<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>“You’re like a Father to me.” by temporaryistemporary</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853834">“You’re like a Father to me.”</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporaryistemporary/pseuds/temporaryistemporary'>temporaryistemporary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a chosen family [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), I made myself sad, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, L’manberg war, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-Canon, Sad Ending, This was kind of cute up until the last part, dadbur, ghostbur mentioned - Freeform, its Wilbur, manberg vs Pogtopia - Freeform, pre resurrection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:53:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporaryistemporary/pseuds/temporaryistemporary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t say that, I will cry.”</p><p>Or: 5 times someone referred to Wilbur as Tommy’s dad, and 1 time Tommy said it to his grave</p><p>(Takes place before Peace)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a chosen family [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read, best smp stories</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>“You’re like a Father to me.”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*WARNING*<br/>(1-4) none<br/>(5) mentions of violence<br/>(+1) mentioned character death (Wilbur), referenced abuse (exile)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>(1)</p><p>Tommy had been five, staring into the window of the bakery across the way while Wilby spoke to one of the people at the booths. Something about seeds, he thought, but he didn’t care enough to remember. Farming was boring anyway, and the bakery looked far more interesting than some dumb plants. He turned back to his Wilby, tugging at his pants until the man looked down at him.</p><p>“What’s up, Toms?”</p><p>And Tommy, feeling shy with the eyes of the booth owner on him, just pointed to the bake shop and gave the other the best puppy dog eyes he could muster, which were pretty damn good, if Tommy had any say. (He wasn’t supposed to use words like that, Wilby had told him not to. But Wilby used them, and so did that winged fellow, so why couldn’t Tommy?)</p><p>Wilby was squinting down at him, smiling. An odd look, for sure, but he made lots of weird faces. “I told you, Tommy, we’ll have to get sweets some other time. We need seeds and more chickens, and then we have to head back to tend to the cows. We’ll get something next time, okay?”</p><p>But that would be so long from now! Tommy whined pitifully, he knew they couldn’t get anything, but he just wanted to look, really. He told Wilby as much, after making the man lean down to his level and whispering in his ear. The older man sighed, gripping Tommy’s tiny hands in his own and locking eyes with the boy.</p><p>“Fine,” he laughed, softly squeezing the boy's hands when he started bouncing in place. “You can go look, I’ll walk you over, and then I have to come back to get the seeds. It’ll only take a minute but I need you to stay in the bakery until I come back to get you, okay?” Tommy nodded enthusiastically, blonde hair flying everywhere. “And if you need anything, don’t cross the road on your own, just yell for me.”</p><p>“Okay Wilby.” Tommy agreed, ignoring the way the other cooed at him and gripping the man’s hand tightly as they walked to the other side of the street. He was shooed through the door, saying a goodbye to Wilby, and waving happily at the baker at the counter. She was very nice, and would always smile at him when they passed by her shop, and would give him extra treats when they came in. The woman waved at him briefly, before going back to scribbling in the book she was holding. Tommy wondered if she was drawing, but was quickly distracted by the nice looking baked goods behind the glass, staring at them with wide eyes but careful not to put his hands on the clear surface (Wilby told him not to, the last time they came in, because then the nice lady would have to clean it when they left, and Tommy didn’t want to upset her).</p><p>“Is there something I can get for you, sweetheart?”</p><p>He looked up to see the woman had knelt down on the other side of the glass to be eye level with Tommy, projecting her voice over the counter. She was smiling gently at him, in the same way that Wilby would when he would read him a bedtime story, or sing him a song.</p><p>Tommy shook his head at her question, before remembering what Wilby had told him. “No ma’am. I just want t’ look.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head.</p><p>“Yes ma’am,” He nodded. “We just needed chickens an’ seeds for the farm an’ then we gotta go home an’ see the cows.” Tommy said, dutifully.</p><p>“Oh my!” She said, her smile widening. “What an important job. How about this then,” the baker stood, collecting a paper bag from behind her and slipping in two of the pastries the child had been eyeing as well as a cookie, before gently folding it closed and walking around the counter to stand in front of him. She held the bag out to Tommy, and he stared at it with wide eyes. “Why don’t you take these, as a gift, for the good work you’re doing helping out, and just tell your father it’s on the house, alright?”</p><p>Tommy squealed in delight, carefully taking the bag from the nice lady’s hand and thanking her. She was still smiling as she went back to the other side of the counter, picking up her book again, and Tommy went to stand by the door as he waited for Wilby. He rocked back and forth on his feet, getting more animated as he spotted his Wilby crossing the road, not noticing the woman giggling at his antics.</p><p>The older man walked in the door, raising an eyebrow at the bag the child was holding. Tommy grinned, wide and full of teeth, and held up his hands for Wilby to pick him up, which he did, of course.</p><p>“What’s this then?” The man asked, looking down at the bag once Tommy had settled in his arms.</p><p>“It’s a present!” The boy exclaimed.</p><p>“Oh? Well did you say thank you, for the present?” Tommy nodded enthusiastically, calling out another loud ‘thank you’ to the woman, who smiled and nodded to his Wilby.</p><p>“Well, let’s go get the chickens then and we can head home, and then you can eat your treats. How’s that sound?” He brushed back the child’s bangs, humming when Tommy nodded again, leaning into the contact.</p><p>They gave one last goodbye to the baker, and headed off down the road.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>(2)</p><p><br/>
It was years later, and Tommy had met a friend.</p><p>His new friend had a nice smile, even though he had looked sad when Tommy had first approached. His new friend lived in a box, said his dad had told him to stay there until he came back, and it had been a few days and he was still gone. His new friend was cold, so Tommy tossed his patched up jacket over him, watching the other boy snuggle into the warm fabric, even as Tommy shivered from a cool breeze.</p><p>They learned his name was Tubbo, after his Wilby had collapsed to his knees in front of them, one hand grasping Tommy’s and the other carefully reaching to help the other boy out of the box. He would be staying in Tommy’s room, Wilby was already making him a bed, and the child couldn’t be more excited. They ended up curled next to each other in Tommy’s bed anyway, the blanket over their heads as they whispered to each other late into the night, far later than Tommy’s bedtime.</p><p>He had been telling the other boy about the new calf that had just been born a few days prior, when Tubbo interrupted, tugging on their already clapped hands.</p><p>“Is your dad going to be mad that we’re awake so late?”</p><p>Tommy scrunched his face up in thought, making his friend giggle, only barely able to see the silly expression. “Wilby? Maybe, but he’ll understand. Besides, I’m a big man! And big men don’t need no bedtime!”</p><p>Tubbo shoved a hand into his face, shushing him even as he tried to stifle his laughter. They calmed after a minute, and Tommy could feel himself beginning to drift off. He didn’t want to sleep, though, he wanted to keep talking to Tubbo! But he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.</p><p>“Why do you call him that?” Tubbo’s voice broke through the silence and Tommy hummed sleepily, a questioning lilt to the sound. “Wilby.”</p><p>“‘Cause he’s my Wilby.” Tommy offered no further explanation, yawning and snuggling deeper into the bed.</p><p>He didn’t bother complaining when the other boy scooted closer to him, tucking his head against Tommy’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything when Tubbo mumbled a soft goodnight. He was deep in sleep by the time Wilby wandered in, pulling back the covers to check on the two, before tucking them in properly and going back to his own room.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>(3)</p><p><br/>
It had been a little over three months since Fundy had started living with them. The fox hybrid was nice, he taught Tommy and Tubbo how to climb trees without snapping branches, and he let them put little braids into his hair or into the fur of his tail (Tubbo especially liked doing this and he would often sneak tiny flowers through the strands). He told them cool stories of his travels with his mother, Sally, and he would smile the whole time, even if he started tearing up. He was another piece to their odd little family and Tommy was glad for it.</p><p>Fundy had seemed off after Phil visited. He hadn’t stuck around, of course, and Tommy didn’t think the winged man had even spoken to Fundy. He certainly hadn’t spoken to Tommy or Tubbo, and had barely said a word to Wilbur. But that was normal.</p><p>What wasn’t normal, however, was the way the fox hybrid kept sending him these looks. Tommy didn’t know what they meant, he wasn’t sure what to make of the searching eyes or the shifting ears. It was starting to grate on his nerves.</p><p>It all came to a head when the older boy had come up to him as he was pulling weeds out of the garden, sitting down next to Tommy and reaching out a clawed hand to assist in the chore. Not that Tommy needed it, of course, he was a great gardener. Even if it did get a little boring.</p><p>“I wanted to ask you something,” Fundy said as they dropped the weeds into a pile.</p><p>“You just did, bitch.”</p><p>The fox hybrid rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean.”</p><p>Tommy huffed, roughly tugging out a weed and sending the dirt flying, laughing when the older boy squealed in protest. “Is it about why you’ve been staring at me like a creep?”</p><p>“I was <em> not </em> staring at you like a creep,” Fundy protested, glancing away when the younger sent him a skeptical look. “But yeah, kind of.”</p><p>They continued working in silence for a moment, neither saying a word. Tommy began to grow impatient, he didn’t like having what Wilbur called ‘serious talks’, and that’s what this felt like. After what felt like an eternity to the boy, Fundy finally spoke up again, voice soft like when he would recite poems or stories late at night when they were supposed to be asleep.</p><p>“Why don’t you call Wilbur Dad?” The older boy asked, and Tommy paused, not looking away from where his hand was settled in the dirt. “I know Wilbur said that guy that was here a few days ago- Phil?- was your father, but you don’t call him that either. So, I guess I just wanted to know why?”</p><p>“Wilbur is my brother,” Tommy whispered, voice even like he was reciting something, “He’s not my dad.”</p><p>“He sure acts like it.”</p><p>The younger boy looked up at that, eyes catching Fundy’s, who had stopped weeding and was instead facing him.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean,” the hybrid hesitated, ears flattening to his head. “He kinda acts like my mom did, before…” He stopped and shook his head, taking a shuddering breath. “He takes care of you, all of us, really. He cooks us breakfast every morning, and tucks us in at night, and cheers us up when one of us is sad or hurt. That’s what my mom did, that’s what all parents are supposed to do.”</p><p>Tommy’s brows scrunched together, lips pulling into a frown. “Wilbur doesn’t want me to call him that, though.”</p><p>“He told you that?”</p><p>“Yeah, I used to call him Dad when I was a baby, and a few other times when I was little, but he would correct me every time.” Tommy said, pulling his knees to his chest.</p><p>Fundy tilted his head to catch his eye, ears flopping with the movement. “Have you tried calling him that recently?”</p><p>Tommy shook his head. What would the point of that even be? Wilbur was his brother anyhow, not his father. There was no reason for him to call the older man <em> that</em>, he had come to terms with that a long time ago.</p><p>The hybrid was staring at him, still, but he seemed lost in thought. Tommy could tell by the way his ears would absently swivel around and his tail curled loosely around his waist, twitching every so often. Eventually, the other snapped out of it, and he stood, smiling weakly at Tommy and ruffling his hair, ignoring the squawk of protest, before heading off to the house. He had no idea what was going on in Fundy’s head, but the other had a track record for causing mischief, and Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what the older boy was going to do.</p><p>A few days later he was proven right when Wilbur began wandering the house with a frazzled look on his face. Tommy wouldn’t find out until later what the fox hybrid had done, having to wait until his brother finally cornered the other long enough to talk, and even then he only heard it from Wilbur himself. They had another “serious talk”, this one causing Tommy’s heart beat erratically in his chest, and his eyes to sting, but he forced himself not to cry.</p><p>He refused when Wilbur asked Tommy if he would like to call him Dad. And he ignored the childish sounding voice in the back of his mind that cried out in anguish.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>(4)</p><p><br/>
L’Manberg was just starting to form, and it was beautiful. It was only a small plot of land with Wilbur’s Camarvan and the beginnings of a protective wall, but Tommy loved it all the same.</p><p>What he didn’t love, however, was the feeling of eyes on him whenever he left their new nation. Wilbur had warned him about that, had told Tommy to come to him if the owner of those eyes ever approached him, to not speak to them and to run as fast as he could back to L’Manberg. And Tommy had planned to do that, really, but it was kind of difficult when the servers notorious arsonist was blocking his way.</p><p>Sapnap had been okay when they first joined the server, he had plenty of playful scraps with the man. But, as Tommy’s family had slowly drifted back together to form their own place, away from the main center of the SMP, Sapnap’s teasing jokes had taken a more biting tone, along with the other two members of the ‘Dream Team’. He had seen the way the man’s face had twisted when Tommy caught his eye after leaving his newly turned Embassy, hand clenching on his hilted sword and Dream leaning against Sapnap’s shoulder, looking like he was whispering something to the man (though with the mask, he couldn’t be sure).</p><p>So Tommy was in his right to be a little wary when the man suddenly dropped down in front of him, standing right in the way of the path back to L’Manberg.</p><p>“Hey Tommy! You’re pretty far from home now, whatcha up to?” Sapnap casually leant against a tree as he spoke, hands shoved into his pockets.</p><p>“None of your business, bitch.” Tommy’s reply was curt, with the insult thrown in almost as an afterthought.</p><p>The older man just laughed, ignoring the boy’s angry look. “Well, I’ve got a letter for your little ‘country’, from Dream.” He said, bringing the envelope out of his pocket and holding it out to Tommy.</p><p>The boy stared at it silently, before roughly snatching it from his hands. It was secured by a seal with a smiley face imprint, the bright green wax glaring up at him. What an egotistical prick.</p><p>“What the fuck does Dream even want now?” Tommy asked, slipping the letter into his coat pocket for Wilbur.</p><p>Sapnap shrugged, straightening up and moving to walk past the younger, knocking heavily into his shoulder and causing Tommy to stumble to the side. He glared at the man, who just smirked back.</p><p>“Just hand that letter off to your dad and tell him Dream wants a meeting with him.” Sapnap said, waving his hand flippantly.</p><p>Tommy stopped, squinting at the other in confusion. “Who?”</p><p>The look he received from Sapnap was almost hilarious, the way his face twisted up in bewilderment.</p><p>“You’re dad,” he repeated slowly. “Y’know, Wilbur Soot? The guy trying to start a war against <em> Dream</em>.”</p><p>The younger’s face flushed in realization. “Wilbur is <em> not </em> my dad.” Sapnap’s gave him an even more confused look, and Tommy huffed, dropping his face into his shaking hands. “He’s my <em> brother</em>.”</p><p>“Oh,” the older coughed awkwardly, “I uh- I thought- Nevermind.” He shook his head, looking away from the boy. “Just give that to Wilbur, then. I’m gonna…” Sapnap trailed off, turning to make the trip back to the SMP and waving a hand in the kid’s direction.</p><p>Tommy continued to stare after him, face red and a lump in his throat.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>(5)</p><p><br/>
He really should’ve listened to the people that warned against meeting childhood heroes.</p><p>Schlatt was an asshole, as proven by the fact that Tommy was exiled along with Wilbur, and currently standing in the man’s office waiting for him to finish out the details of his and his brother’s visas that were required for them to enter <em> their own </em> country. He hated it, and he hated Schlatt.</p><p>The ram hybrid seemed almost unbothered as he scribbled on the papers in front of, almost completely disregarding the rising anger of the child standing on the other side of the desk as he took the occasional swig of whatever-the-fuck was in his glass. It looked like sludge, and the kid had almost gagged when he caught a whiff of it as the man walked by him. If Tommy had to take a guess, he would say Schlatt was enjoying making him wait, purposefully taking his time in writing and re-reading his work. By the time he was finished with the visa, Tommy was rocking on his heels impatiently, hand fidgeting from where he had them clasped behind his back, mirroring the pose he often saw Wilbur standing in.</p><p>Schlatt cleared his throat and Tommy snapped his gaze back from where it had been wandering along the walls. “Well,” he started, holding up the papers, “here we are. Two one hour visas, courtesy of yours truly, the merciful president of this miserable country.”</p><p>“Oh shut up, man.” Tommy scoffed, reaching to grab the papers only to have them snatched back at the last second.</p><p>“C’mon now, kid,” Schlatt smirked, pushing back from the desk and making his way to stand in front of Tommy, infuriating the younger when he had to look up to meet the man’s eyes. “I’m doing a nice thing here, out of the kindness of my own heart. The least you can do is thank me.”</p><p>Tommy scowled, holding in a growl. “Thank you, Schlatt.”</p><p>“That’s President Schlatt to you, kid.” The man held out the visas again, letting the younger actually take them this time and watching he put them safely in his inventory.</p><p>A hand settled heavily on Tommy’s shoulder and he stiffened as he was forcefully turned around as guided out of the office. He held in his insults as well as the growing urge to punch the man in the face and plunge his own horns into his eye sockets. It would only cause them more trouble in the long run and Wilbur really wanted these visas.</p><p>Schlatt didn’t release him until they were on the edge of <em> Manberg</em>, giving the boy a rough shove and laughing as he was almost sent sprawling in the dirt. The hybrid turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Go on back to your dad now, and don’t lose those visas! You won’t be getting any more.”</p><p>Tommy was too stunned to respond, clutching at the front of his worn shirt and staring at the space in the sky where their flag used to wave. The man’s parting words didn’t even fully register in his head until he made it back to Pogtopia, and by then it was too late to correct him. He didn’t think Schlatt would’ve given a shit, anyway. Tommy tried to convince himself the same.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>(+1)</p><p><br/>
Everything sucked. L’Manberg was blown up, Techno had released <em> withers </em>, and Wilbur was… gone. He was dead and they hadn’t even given him a funeral. Schlatt, the fucking dictator, had gotten a funeral, with speeches and a casket and everything. And Wilbur got nothing.</p><p>Tommy wasn’t even sure if anyone had collected the man’s <em> body</em>, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to check. Whatever. If no one else would give the other founder of L’Manberg a grave then Tommy would. Far off in the forest where no one could ransack it like they’d done to Schlatt’s.</p><p>It was closer to Pogtopia than he would’ve liked, but Wilbur had hated L’Manberg towards the end, so Tommy supposed it made sense. He had made the headstone himself, it was messy and the words were all crooked but it would do. He dug a hole for a box filled with some of Wilbur’s possessions; a few books, the man’s old revolutionary coat, and his favorite sweater that he would wear around their house, before the SMP. He planted flowers around the site, and left a bouquet of them on the top of the disturbed dirt, all soft yellows and blues.</p><p>New flowers were planted every time he returned, and Tommy would sit there afterwards, knees hugged tight to his chest as he stared at the stone in the ground. It felt a bit silly, but occasionally Tommy would even talk to the grave, pretending Wilbur could hear him. He told him what was happening in L’Manberg, about the spirit that called himself Ghostbur, of the efforts Tubbo was going through to rebuild the country, and even of  the new friend Tommy had made, Ranboo.</p><p>Tommy came back the night before he was exiled, hands shaking and breaths quick. He whispered about how it was an accident, he hadn’t meant to burn the house down, and how <em> angry </em>Dream was with him, even though George’s house was far from the first to be griefed. He tugged at his hair and told the headstone how worried he was about the chance that Tubbo might actually kick him out, and that he hoped he wouldn’t, they were best friends after all.</p><p>It was another two weeks before Tommy could finally make it back to the grave. He collapsed next to the stone instead of in front of it, leaning his cheek on the cool rock.</p><p>“I really miss you,” Tommy sighed, staring at the dirt, “I’m exiled again, if you didn’t know. I’m not sure if you see what Ghostbur sees, or if he tells you stuff, but I’m alone now. Dream visits me, but all he ever does is blow up my shit.”</p><p>The wind whistled past, and Tommy curled in further to himself, tucking Wilbur’s coat further around him. Ghostbur had brought it to him one night, and Tommy had taken it hesitantly, unwilling to ask the shade where it had come from. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t like the answer.</p><p>“This sucks, you suck.” He sobbed suddenly, fists gripping the fabric uncomfortably tight. “I hate you! I hate you for going crazy, I hate you for blowing up our home, I hate you for <em> leaving</em>.” Tommy wheezed softly as he caught his breath, tears streaming down his face. “You said you’d be right back, Wilby. You <em> told me </em> you would come back. But you didn’t, you’re a liar and I hate you.”</p><p>The sounds of zombies and skeletons in the distance were growing louder as the moon rose further into the sky but Tommy didn’t care. He stayed rooted to the spot, staring blankly ahead as he fired off every curse he could think of at the dead man until his throat hurt. And then, for good measure, he drove his fist into the ground, indifferent to the pain that spread through his hand.</p><p>“Fuck you,” he whispered for a final time, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the side of the headstone, “I hate you but I miss you, too. Why’d you have to leave?”</p><p>Tommy scrubbed his face roughly, unwilling to leave evidence of his crying but unable to stop the tears from flowing at the same time.</p><p>“<em>Please come back, Dad.</em>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was going to end happy and then it didn’t so<br/>whoops</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>